


Tight Knit

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Knitting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: amayakumiko prompted: "After fight make up."(Started January 11th, 2014.)Winter Writing/Drawing ChallengeDay 28 - Knitting





	Tight Knit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amayakumiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amayakumiko/gifts).



It's cold out, but Bobby's gaze is colder, the heat in his face equal parts anger and shame. Stupid cabin.

Stupid Rufus. 

The temperature's below the line marked freezing, and the sun's falling below the horizon fast, and Rufus isn't sorry either, no. If Bobby Singer was to find himself out in the cold, the below-freezing cold, well, that'd be his own damn fault, and maybe Rufus wouldn't have bothered saving the kid's ass if he knew he'd be this much trouble.

There wouldn't be an upturned table and beans all over the floor if the kid had any self-control.

Bars are for dating, parties are for dating, witnesses are for questioning, and that's the end of that.

"She doesn't want you for you, Bobby. She wants comfort, and you don't want the limits she's gonna put on the whole thing." He'd tried it as nicely as he could.

Bobby wouldn't have come back to be Rufus's partner if he'd known he'd embarrass him so much, make him feel so stupid and low. He walks, snow squishing down in tight boot prints, hands shoved deep in his pockets cause he left the gloves somewhere by Rufus's coat and boots.

Rufus isn't Bobby's father. Bobby would know, since he killed his father, since he buried him behind the shed, and Rufus has no idea. He killed his wife the night they met. She'd been innocent. Most of the things they hunt are innocent. Werewolves don't ask for it, for that curse, for the moon's power, the sickness in their veins, the taste for the flesh of a thumping, human heart.

Bobby's heart had thumped in his chest when her mouth had tilted that way. She was amused by the way he'd fumbled with his notepad, her eyes brightening despite the red rims around them from tears she'd been crying over her friend. He'd accepted a hot drink from her before he'd remembered that probably wasn't very hunterly, or very cop-like. Or was it? 

His ring finger had itched, the color of the wall seeming too blue, her voice just determined enough to be surprising. Her accent was slight, and her quiet cursing when she spilled something in the kitchen completely translatable to him, but he was pretty sure she didn't know that. 

"We had a lot in common," he insisted despite Rufus's quiet fury, fresh from the thrill of a date when he should never have offered to see her again. He'd been lying about his job. He'd been lying about his purpose, omitting his beliefs about the case, not even pretending not to be able to read the words on the sticky note someone had left on the cover of a book she was obviously borrowing.

"It wasn't gonna work," Rufus had replied coolly.

Bobby'd itched to tell him off, to prove him wrong, but he settled for property damage and running out of the cabin.

The wind was cutting when it blew, and it made him sort of nervous when everything got still, so he couldn't win.

He sits down in a patch of wet, mulchy ground, a winter oasis.

This has very little to do with Rufus, in some ways. Because he misses Karen. He’d been lonely in childhood, with an angry father and an absent mother, one who didn’t stop being absent when, due to his father’s death, his father stopped being angry. Karen and Bobby hadn’t had much time to set up a life together before she was dead, in the grand scheme of things.

How much does he know about Rufus, anyway, this guy he’s trusted with his new lifestyle as a hunter, the guy who he wants to say doesn’t want him to have any fun, which he knows now, sitting on wet mulch, isn’t even true.

“You idjit,” he tells himself, the whisper hissed viciously. He punches ineffectually at the mulch.  


He makes himself get up when he’s losing the feeling in his face and his hands, having already lost it in his toes. In the safety of the cabin, he puts his hand up when Rufus’s blazing eyes and the way he opens his mouth say he’s got words for him. He doesn’t want them yet.

He lets his hands warm up for a while, noting the fact the mess he made is _already_  clean. Because Rufus is incredible, and he’s wearing out that wonderful patience cause he’s a fuck up.

Finally, he heads to his duffel, closing the door decisively behind him. He only needs an hour or so, a time to reflect and create something new, a fresh start. He’s not ungrateful; so, he’ll prove it.

“Rufus, I’m sorry,” he tells him with a bit of a red tint to his face, his hand behind his back.

“What you got there? You’re making me nervous,” Rufus points out, so Bobby sighs. Of course he’d see it as a potential threat. His paranoia kept them alive.

“You seem to have all the answers, pal. I...think I depend on you too much already. It makes me nervous. Here,” he adds, shoving a mass of yarn at Rufus.

“What? Oh. Thanks?” Rufus says, taking it, unfolding it cautiously. “A new scarf, huh?”

“Just finished it.”   


“ _You_  made it?” There! Bobby has managed to impress him, something not achieved easily at all.  


Bobby takes it from him gently, smiling carefully as he arranges it around Rufus’s neck himself. He didn’t know why he’d chosen a soft, golden brown tone, when he started making the scarf, a habit that helped him get to sleep, one of the few good ones he’d picked up from his mom. Now, though, he sees it looks nice on Rufus.

“I gotta see this,” Rufus says, not able to hide how he’s pleased with it, his eyes twinkling sweetly as he heads to the mirror by the sink.   


“I’m an asshole,” Bobby admits as Rufus admires it. They both expect it to go like this, though his recent outburst was the worst yet.   


There’s a silence, which Rufus only breaks to say, “Yeah, we know. Go on.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “You’re right. I shouldn’t date a witness. It isn’t me. I like...consistency. I like to get to know someone.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Rufus says. He turns around. “This is a nice scarf. Thanks. Didn’t know you’d give it to me.”  


“You saw it?”  


“Of course I searched your bag. You’ve met me,” Rufus points out.  


Bobby sighs again, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Paranoid. But good at what you do. I’m sorry it’s annoying me so much, the fact you keep being right. I’m following your lead _because_  you’re always right. And, plus,” he shakes his head at himself as he looks at how thoughtful and sincere Rufus is as a friend, “I think I’m starting to feel too close to you. It feels weird, after having no friends and having the parents I had. Have?” He’s not so sure about his mom, one way or the other.

“You’re lonely, Bobby,” Rufus soothes. He takes a step toward Bobby, he rests a hand on his shoulder. “You’re grieving, and you’re getting used to being around a friend, a friend you’re stuck with 24/7. It’s okay. I’m not the easiest to get along with either. We’re both assholes, sometimes.”

Bobby nods carefully. “Yeah. I really liked her, you know.” Rufus nods sagely. “I really like you too, though. Thanks for cleanin’ up.”

Rufus curls his hand into the knitted yarn, the other one still on Bobby’s shoulder. “Thanks for the scarf,” he says. “You still hungry?” He gives a regular old lick of his lips, but Bobby’s eyes catch on the movement, and he gives a thought to the concept of being attracted to Rufus.  


“Maybe,” he says. “I’ll have to think about it.”   


Bobby makes his way back to the table.

“It’s okay, kid,” Rufus says, carefully taking off the scarf and folding it up nicely to protect it from any potential mess. “And, when it isn’t? I’ll let you know.”   


Bobby laughs, gently, folding his hands in his lap as he sits and assesses how he feels, in more ways than one.


End file.
